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suchalonelysunflower · 4 years

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You Broke Me First (C.H)

Pairing: former FWB!Calum X Reader

Requested: Yes!

Summary: Based on the song “You Broke Me First” by Tate McRae. You are trying to forget about the man who broke your heart, so it’s a surprise when his name appears on your phone again.

Warnings: Angst af. Language. Mild Smut. Mentions of Alcohol and cheating. Probably one or two grammar mistakes (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Word count: 5K

Author’s Note: Requested by the lovely @thebasicbitch-things ✨ I loved writing this piece, maybe because I love the song so much, so thank you for requesting it and I hope I made it justice 💕. Feedback, reblogs and comments are always welcome and appreciated it! You can read my other works HERE. Happy reading! 🦋

@thebasicbitch-things : Can you write a Calum imagine based off the song You Broke me first by Tate McRae?? Like I’m just in a weeping mood. Thank you xxx

Maybe you don't like talking too much about yourself

But you shoulda told me that you were thinkin' 'bout someone else

You're drunk at a party or maybe it's just that your car broke down

Your phone's been off for a couple months, so you're calling me now

The liquid burns your throat, but you don’t really feel it anymore. When the heat starts spreading around the rest of your body is when you know you need another one. And another one. And another one. Anything to keep him from your mind.

It’s ironic how the memory of him still lingers on, even more with every drink you drown. Well, it’s not so ironic as it is shitty. But it’s at times like this, when you’re at a random club in the middle of the night surrounded by strangers trying to create stories of their own while all you want to do is forget, that the only thing your mind can focus on is him.

A year ago:

“Babe?” You heard his voice as he exited the bathroom. Still shirtless and with his boxers on, hanging loosely “Are you okay?”

You sat down on the bed, your naked skin barely covered by the messy sheets “Mhmm” you mumbled, still zooned out in your own thoughts and worries as you saw Calum grab his shirt and jeans from the floor.

It was always the same. He would call or text, you would meet with any excuse, hang out for a while before moving to the bedroom. The same old story of friends who fuck each other, with the same old ending every night: you in your bed watching him get dressed and close the door on his way out.

“Do you really have to leave?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“I have to”

“No, you don’t have to”

“Y/N…”

You hated that condescending tone. Not only that, but you hated yourself, too. You and this whole messy situation you got yourself into. You didn’t know how bad of an idea it was to accept his proposal of friends with benefits when you already had feelings for him. But who could say no to Calum Hood? Especially with the hopes of becoming something more along the way.

At the beginning it was all you could dream of. The night seemed endless when he hold you close to him, breathing the same air as your bodies collided with each other, creating messes as you explored every inch of skin you had to offer, seeing stars explode with every right touch, hearing each other’s names like prayers coming from your parting lips. It was almost like you couldn’t get enough, almost.

“What? God, Calum, would it kill you to stay the night just once? Would it ruin your reputation of a heartthrob batchellor?”

“What has gotten into you?” He asked in confusion at your sudden outburst “You know the rules of this”

“Oh, the rules. Fuck them”

The rules were simple: Never overstaying, no exclusivity, don’t let others find out, never do anything public… but most importantly: Never fall in love. You had agree to that once, but most certainly broken almost every rule. You’ve fallen in love with him.

“Y/N…”

“It hurts, Calum” You said with glossy eyes “It hurts when you leave, and I- I can’t watch you do that anymore”

Calum’s eyes soften a bit. Debating whether or not he should stay. But after a pleading “Please” from your lips he caved in, laying down on the bed next to you, pulling you closer to him.

You smiled, allowing yourself to drift away in dreams and hopes of him laying next to you for the rest of your lives. Little did you know that those dreams were to be crushed next morning when you find an empty bed and a note with a little ‘sorry’ scribbled on it.

That was the first nights of many where he would lay down with you. Sometimes he would stay till morning and share a cup of coffee with you at breakfast. Other times he would disappear as a ghost in the middle of the night, only leaving the marks on your body as proof of his presence. It hurted, but at least you didn’t watch him walk away. You never watched as he did.

Took a while, was in denial when I first heard

That you moved on quicker than I could've ever, you know that hurt

Swear for a while I would stare at my phone just to see your name

But now that it's there, I don't really know what to say

You feel your friend’s grasp on your arm as they drag you down to the dance floor. Pulling you away from your own pity party as you watch how they sway to the beat of a song you’ve never heard of, soon joining them with the alcohol in your veins rushing towards your brain and taking control of your every move. ‘Tonight is not about Calum’ you tell yourself as you let the music take you away, already feeling the effects of the one too many shots you did earlier. But some things are easier said than done.

It’s funny, how after so many months of not seeing each other you can still feel him in your skin. You memorized the way his hands wrapped around your waist and the smell of his cologne. You could still feel his breath on your neck, the burning kisses he used to leave and the whispers that got lost inside a dream. Even now that you are dancing along to an ear shattering beat, the rhythm of your heart still beats and longs for him.

You can feel yourself in the dire need of another drink, desperate to push those memories away and cleanse yourself from his touch once and for all. You don’t care how many nights it would take, how many people or how many hangovers. You are determined to get that boy out of your system, where he won’t hurt you anymore.

“Y/N!” Your friend yells over the music, gesturing towards your hand “Your phone is glowing!”

You bring your phone to your face, trying to focus on the image that’s plastered across the screen. A name pops up, a name you haven’t seen in so long.

Muttering an “Oh fuck” you press ‘decline’ over and over again, until Calum stopped calling.

Seven months ago:

It’s been two weeks since you last heard from him. It’s been two weeks since he left you alone in a fuzz. It’s been two weeks since he slammed the door and he still hasn’t called.

Maybe he was right and you fucked everything up. But you were sure of your words, you know there’s truth to them, so you stan by them. He will soon realize his mistake, he has to. He wouldn’t leave you like that, would he? He must know he hurt you, he must. The words he said… they are like tattoos on your mind, they don’t seem to fade with time. But you knew it wasn’t entirely your fault. You were as guilty as he was.

For the past two weeks you’ve been glued to your screen, hoping for his name to appear. Taping your screen randomly to see if you’ve gotten a text or a call or a dm or even a fucking email. But nothing ever came.

It wasn’t until you were scrolling down Twitter that you saw it.

It was a paparazzi photo, he was wearing a classic tee and the sweatpants you once told him were your favorite on him. His hair was longer, or at least it seemed like it, his eyes avoiding the cameras as he walked through the busy streets of LA as he normally would. The only difference is the hand that was holding his.

A lump formed in your throat as you opened the tweet to find a thread of even more pictures of him with the mysterious person, grabbing them by the waist and smiling as they came closer. The paparazzi seemed to catch every single intimate moment he was able to show in public, much more than he ever showed you when you were both out and sober, at least. But Calum seemed happy, and that hurt you the most.

A thousand questions ran through your head as you ignored the happy tweets from fans celebrating that his favorite band member finally got a significant other. How long has this been going on? Did he ever tell you about it? You never claim exclusivity, so it could’ve had happen when you were still ‘together’, meaning he choose them. He left you and chose them, replacing you and everything you didn’t get to have without even saying goodbye.

Swallowing the bitterness of the memory with a shot of tequila, you press decline once again and order another drink. What would you say to him anyway? Would you curse him? Would you kiss him? Would he even apologize or pretend that it never happened? The truth is, you don’t even want to know.

You catch some flirty eyes from across the bar, but you ignore them as you try to collect your thoughts on this whole situation, and besides, don’t need another heartbreak at the moment.

“That guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he came in” Said the bartender, pouring you another drink.

You lift your gaze towards ’pretty eyes’ over the bar, but he already seemed to have lost interest in you as his eyes scattered all over the room, looking for another person to spend his time with.

“Doesn’t seem like it” You nod toward the other end of the bar.

“What? No, not him. Him!”

They point behind you and you turn around quickly, a pretty bad idea considering how drunk you are at the moment. But wasted or not, you would recognize those eyes anywhere.

Calum is standing in the middle of a sea of people, but his eyes are solemnly focusing on you as he raises his phone to his ear, raising his eyebrows as he hears the dial tone. Almost immediately, your phone starts ringing next to you with the all too familiar name popping out again.

Without breaking eye contact, you press decline once again, standing up quickly as you start to walk up to the nearest exit, trying to get away from him as fast as you could. ‘Tonight is not about Calum’ you told yourself earlier that night, and yet there he was, pushing his way through a drunk crowd to get towards you.

“Y/N!” You hear him call, but you are not stopping. You don’t need this confrontation right now. You don’t want to see him or talk to him. You want to forget him and everything you ever did.

Feeling like your chest is going to explode at any second, you accelerated your pace, not caring how many people you have to push to get to the door as long as he doesn’t find you. Your legs, however, had other plans as they give out due to the mix dizziness and adrenaline you were feeling, just mere meters from the exit. You curse your past self for having so many drinks as you try to get up. But, soon enough, you feel an arm rounding around your waist and pulling you to your feet.

After almost eight months you find yourself reflected in those eyes again. The same eyes that made you feel butterflies in your stomach everytime he looked your way. You couldn’t help but get drawn into them, remembering that the last time you saw them they replaced the desire with anger, shaking you to your core.

He was saying something, you were sure of it because his mouth is moving “What?!”

“I said, Why aren’t you answering your phone?!” He yelled over the music. Your drunk mind can’t decide if you want to slap him or kiss him or cry right there on the spot.

“That’s none of your business! Now please let go of me, I want to go home”

You push yourself away from his grasp “Y/N, please I need to ta-“ He interrupted himself as he watched you almost trip over your own feet again, clearly too drunk to stand straight. In a matter of seconds, he was by your side again, this time pulling your arm over his shoulders so you could lay on him “Wha- How many drinks did you have?”

“As many as I needed” You scoffed, trying to pull away, but his grip on your waist was stronger.

“For what?! Drown yourself?”

“I needed to forget you” Calum clenches his jaw, feeling like his heart was shattered into a million pieces “But that’s clearly not working, given that you are here. Would you please let me go?”

“Y/N you are too drunk to function,”

“Am not!”

“Please, let me take you home. I need to talk to you”

“Leave me alone, Calum. I don’t need you and I most definitely don’t want to talk to you”

You turn your face to him. It has been a long time since you last saw him. He has more curls now, and a little five o’clock shadow, but his yes,,, oh, his eyes. The time stops, or at least it feels like it, it was almost like the first time you saw them, magnetic and filled with something you couldn’t decipher, but now they had something different. They were hurting, pleading, almost begging you for something you didn’t quite understand at the moment, but you know you couldn’t say no to those eyes, at least not here and not in your condition.

So after making sure you could stand properly, you caved “Fine”

I know you, you're like this

When shit don't go your way you needed me to fix it

And like me, I did

But I ran out of every reason

The car ride was as silent as a tomb. The sounds of the city night and the flashing of streetlights were your only source of distraction. You looked through the window, not wanting to make any eye contact with the man that broke your heart. He, however, was anxious for you to spare a glance towards him. Calum’s fingers taped the steering wheel nervously, he wanted to fill the silence with something, anything. But his words came short as he realized that you weren’t the person he knew, you were a stranger sitting in his car. The clothes you were wearing, the state of drunkenness you were in, the anger behind your eyes and words, and the fact that you couldn’t even stan him touching you… that was not the Y/N he knew.

Once you reached the house, you didn’t even wait for him to turn the car off as you practically jumped out of the seat and went to open the door. Calum quickly following you, half of him afraid that you might hurt yourself, the other half afraid that you would lock him out.

He let out a breath of relief as you let him in. Remembering the last time he was here.

Seven and a half months ago:

It was a normal afternoon for the two of you. Things were going well, Calum started to be more open towards you, spending the night, cuddling and hanging out more without the promise of sleeping together afterwards and you loved it. You were having fun as well, you would walk Duke together or cook dinner or just exist together by watching a movie or listening to his favorite songs that you “absolutely needed to hear” And today was no different as you cuddled with him watching one of Netflix’s crappy teenage movies. Things were going well, or so you thought.

You were straddling him, lips melting together as the movie was long forgotten. His hands were cupping your ass, setting a slow pace with your hips as you grinded on him. You whole body was on fire, ready to burst when his lips made their way down your neck, leaving marks that you would later trace with your fingers as you try to hide them.

“Calum,” You moaned softly as he found your sweet spot under your ear, sucking and biting it like only he knew how. Your hands flew to the back of his head, fingers lost in his hair, tugging it lightly every time he met your hips with a dry thrust.

He groaned, drunk to sounds you were making. He loved the effect he had on you, almost as much as the effect you had on him. It was addictive, dangerous. He knows he shouldn’t play with fire, but what a lovely way to burn it was.

You moaned again when you felt his teeth grazing your jaw, finding their way to your lips again. The rolling of your hips was faster, more desperate than before, the friction was almost unbearable. You needed him with a passion “C-Calum…”

“Tell me what you want, baby” He said with a raspy voice, breathing onto your neck “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you”

You shuddered at his words, getting dizzy with his touch, his soft groans and his eyes filled with lust, looking straight into your soul, burning like the sun.

You grabbed his head by the sides, pulling him closer until your foreheads pressed together “You” you whispered loud enough for him to hear “I want all of you, Calum”

A couple of hours passed and you were still laying on the sofa, cuddled against the naked chest of the bassist. His fingers were caressing your sides as both of your breathings became even, coming out of your highs.

You felt infinite in his arms, safe and wanted. You wanted this to last forever, to have him only for yourself and be his everything. You craved for more intimate looks, for innocent touches while in public, you wanted to show the world how in love you were with this man that has, not only conquered your heart, but also your soul. You loved him, and you hope with your whole heart that he loves you too.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, drawing circles down your arm.

You debated on whether to tell him the truth or not. You knew Calum had always denied himself the possibility of love, stating time and again that he doesn’t really believe in it. But you’ve seen a change in him for the last few months you were together. He was more caring, more attentive, staying longer than he should and being there for you when you needed, not only for a quick fuck anymore. Maybe the chances of him loving you back were not as low as you thought.

“I meant what I said earlier, you know?” You ventured, lifting your gaze to meet his. He gave you a quizzical look, not really sure of what you were referring to “I do want all of you, Calum”

He smiled “You have me now”

“Yeah,,, but that’s not what I meant”

Taking a brave step, you pushed yourself forward and kissed him. You were done hiding the feelings you’ve been accumulating over the years, ready to let yourself go and drown on him. Only him.

Calum, however, was taken by surprise. Pulling himself from you.

“I thought we agree on not to catch feelings for each other” He said coldly. Already sitting up and looking across the room for his clothes.

You sat and watched as he got up from his spot on the couch and started to dress as fast as he could.

“Cal-“

“We agreed, Y/N. We said no string attached. Goddammit, everything was going so well, but you had to fuck it up, didn’t you?”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Shattering you completely from the inside. You tried to collect your thoughts as the tears threatened to come out, but Calum kept going.

“What the hell were you thinking? What were you expecting? Huh?”

“It’s not my fault that I love you” Your voice sounded broken, weak, and you hated that. How could he be so angry? What gave him the right when you were the one who was hurting?

“Well, it’s not mine either! Is it?” Calum said with exasperation, putting on his shirt.

“I thought-“

“What? That I loved you? Y/N, I don’t love anyone! You knew that when we started this!”

“And what am I to you then?!” You matched his tone of voice, tears were already spilling down your face but you didn’t care. You were fuming “What am I, Calum? A friend? A good fuck? Huh? Was I just a toy that you could play with every time you felt needy? Have you ever thought of me as something more?”

Calum’s stare was cold as ice. He was standing in the middle of the living room, clenching his fists to either side of his body until his knuckles became white. You, on the other hand, were sitting on the couch, crying. But your eyes burned with anger as you saw how carelessly he was invalidating your feelings, throwing everything away just because he couldn’t admit his own. A silent war was being fought between the two of you, both of you so scared but with nothing left to lose.

It seemed like ages had passed before Calum spoke again, grabbing his jacket and heading towards the door.

“Was there ever something more?”

You kept staring at the nothing he left behind, the last thing you heard was the slamming of your front door, leaving you alone and completely heartbroken.

Calum followed you into the kitchen, completely avoiding the living room where he last saw you, where he left you. He felt weirdly unwelcomed as you poured yourself a glass of water without even offering one to him, maybe he was.

You drink your water slowly, thinking that that will give you time to think on what to say to him. Maybe he would start talking soon, but the only thing he does is stare at you from the other side of the kitchen island. “How did you know where I was?” You asked.

“Your friend’s stories. You may have blocked me from yours, but they haven’t”

Then, silence came over you again. It was almost like he was waiting for you to say something, just like you always did. You played this game before, you are not going to cave. You are not going to give him the satisfaction of controlling the situation here.

“I need to talk to you” He finally said, letting his shoulders relax for a bit.

“You keep saying that. But you sure haven’t done a lot of talking”

The tension in the room was so thick that it could easily be cut by a knife. You always wondered what you would say to him, what would you feel the next time you saw him and, right now, you felt like there was nothing more to say. He had no right appearing into your life again, not when you were picking yourself together after he shattered you.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry”

“For what, exactly?” The venom in your voice was palpable, Calum knew this was not going to be easy for him “For leaving me here alone and then got yourself another person to play the ‘couple’ part? For practically calling me a whore? Or for giving me shit because of what I felt for you, knowing damn well you felt the same?”

You tilted your head, waiting for his answer, but it seems you left him speechless. Good.

Calum ran his hand through his curls, staring at the floor then back at you “I fucked up”

“That much is true”

“I’m serious, Y/N” He started walking towards you “I’m sorry for everything, you are right. You always are. I just- I didn’t know what to do! I panicked and-“

“And that’s your excuse of why you ran away instead of facing the problem?”

“I was scared! Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” Calum raised his voice. He was now standing a couple of feet in front of you, so close and yet so far away from you “Y/N, I was so fucking scared. You know that I’ve never had a committed relationship before, that I never let things get too far but with you.. God, I never felt the same with anyone like that before not after you. And then you said all of those things and I- Hearing you say that you love me was too much, I couldn’t process it and instead of saying something coherent I just lashed out on you and you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry”

Calum took a step forward, softly grabbing your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. He took your silence as his cue to continue.

“You were always there for me, every time I needed you were there. No questions asked, no judging, not waiting for something in return. Always making me laugh, supporting me and letting me take a break from the messy life I have. You were the best thing in my life and I took you for granted. I hate that it has taken me this long to realize that, but I just miss you, Y/N. I miss us, so much that you can’t imagine how much it hurts. I need you with me, please let’s just go back to where we started. Or we can start over, whatever you want! But, please, baby, please don’t leave me”

And just before you know it, Calum cupped your cheek with his free hand and brought your face closer to him, crashing his lips into yours. You responded almost immediately by parting your lips and granting him more access, getting completely lost inside the kiss.

For a moment it felt like the old times, he tastes just like you remember and his touch stills makes your skin erupt with goosebumps. For years you’ve been waiting for this, for him to feel the same about you and love you without any fears or doubts, claiming that he was yours and you were his. You wanted this for so long… but why does it feel so bad?

Gathering all the courage you could manage, you push Calum away from you.

“S-stop!” You said, trembling “Stop, this isn’t right”

He gave you a confused look as he took a step back “Y/N-“

“What about your partner? Calum, did you at least break up with them before you came to find me?” The way he looked at the floor gave you all the answers you needed. You raised your hand to your forehead, suppressing the urge to cry or laugh at his antics “Oh my God”

“I was going to! I swear I just-“ He failed to find an excuse “Things were doing awful between us lately, Y/N. You have to understand, I-“

“What?!” You spat “that you had to make sure I was on board with all of this?! I am not a consolation prize, Calum. I am not a second choice!”

“Baby, I know. I-“

“Don’t call me that!”

Calum took another step back, he has never seen you so angry before.

“How dare you? How. Dare. You, Calum. Coming here after eight months! saying all that shit about how much I mean to you when it’s just bullshit”

“Y/N, it’s not-“

“I’m not fucking finish” You say raising a hand to silence him “Could you tell me, where'd you get the nerve? I don’t get a single text or call or fucking smoke signal from you for eight months, knowing how I felt about you, and now suddenly you're asking for it back? Saying that you miss all that we had? We had nothing, Calum. We were nothing more than just a fuck around, you said it yourself, didn’t you? There was no ‘us’ for you to miss. You made damn sure of that. You don’t miss me, not really. You miss how I made you feel. How easy it was for me to be there for you every time you called, well, I’m tired of fixing all your problems, I ran out of every reason to do it.

And I was so stupid, you know? For believing just for a second that this could actually mean something when it never meant something to you in the first place! Did you even think about how I would feel about all of this? Of course not! Why would you? After all, I’m just Y/N! The one who always gets stepped on, why should my feelings matter? If I’m always going to be there for you and everything you ask for. Well, fuck that!”

“Y/N..” Calum tried to intervene, but you couldn’t hear him.

“You want to know what I did after you left? I cried myself to sleep for weeks, reliving every moment we had, every word you said just before you left. Waiting by the phone for hours just to see if you’d call. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I was the living incarnation of death because I realized I lived just for you. Well, not anymore. You said you were hurting, you have no idea what I went through so, I’m sorry, but I don't really care how bad it hurts. I’m done. We are done”

You walk by him and towards the front door, opening it as an invitation for him to leave. Calum, however, remained standing in your kitchen, staring at you with glossy eyes.

“Baby, please don’t do this” He said with a trembling voice “I don’t know what to do without you I’m- I’m broken”

You were still standing by the door. Unmoving and without an inch of sympathy for the man crying in front of you.

“You broke me first, Calum. But I’m all glued back together now, and I did it by myself. Hope one day you could learn to do that too”

And, for the first time in months, you saw him leave.

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dystopian-penguin · 4 years

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Is this a real life story? Is this a fic concept? Who knows 🤷

But here’s a very long account of... something.

This isn't a gay disaster story. It's a gay sad ending story. It's a gay "self-homophobia is very real and realistic” story, and not in the "gay panic is kinda cute" way.

It all started 14 years ago (yes that long), when I was still deeply in the HP fandom and even more deep into reading James/Lilly fics in ff.net all day long. For the first time in my entire life I decided to sort by “all works” and not just “completed”. I know it might sound super silly, and even a bit cliche considering this is tumblr and we live and breath fics, but that single decision literally changed the course of my life. And unlike what I usually do, I am not exaggerating. I found this one fic that must have had, like, 20 chapters and almost 100k words and dived into it without looking for rocks in the bottom. Long story short: the last posted chapter ended on a huuuuuge cliffhanger, like the very next moment after the kiss, and it left me completely destroyed.

So I did what I always do, what I am known on tumblr and my small social circle in here to do: I went to scream at the author.

But I wasn’t content to just scream in the comment section, oh no. For all I knew the bitch wouldn’t even see it, the last update had been from like 8 months previously. So I stalked her ff.net profile and found her MSN email. Yes, the story is THAT old.

My literal first words to her must have been something akin to “OH MY GOD I HATE YOU SO MUCH”, which yay for the beautiful poetic irony that the universe crafts at times. She took it in stride because, let’s face it, a shitton of people had already greeted her like that by then. And we started talking, and it was easy and fun. We had a lot in common, more or less the same type of interests, the usual you’d expect if I had met her on tumblr even. We must have talked like 3 hours straight on that first day, and I left feeling pretty good cause I had made a new friend. Not only that, but right off the bat I admired her so much. Not only because she was talented as fuck (imagine writing a 100k unfinished fic at only 15 y/o), but also because the more I talked to her the more I could see just how fucking cultured she was and how intelligent and ect. She came from a wealthy family and such a different reality from me. She had been abroad, in fact she usually travelled abroad with her family like twice a year, she was fluent in english even then (at that point I was I intermediate at best), not to mention german because her family was german. She was 15 (a year older than me back then) and trilingual and could write wonderfully and I was fascinated by her instantly.

Something else worth of note was that her profile pic on the day we met had been set to a close-up of a blue eye. I must have asked on that very same day whose eye was that because damn if it hasn’t been the prettiest blue I’ve ever seen. I mean, I hadn’t told her that, but I was curious enough to ask. And as everyone and their grandmother might have guessed by now, it was hers.

Somehow (and I truly don’t know HOW), we got into the habit of talking every day, or at least very close to it. I got to know about her daily life, just one state south from where I live and sooooo much colder than what I had ever experienced. She went to a swiss school, fully bilingual, was the first in her year in the IB program which for the love of crap I didn’t even know it existed back then. Might not ever have known if I never met her. Eventually we exchanged phone numbers, and back then SMS messages were like 1,50 bucks for inter-state ones. Our mothers were not happy.

Around a year and a half went by this way. She became my best friend, my rock. We both had a shitton of problems in your high school lives and in our family lives, and we were so relieved to know there was someone out there we could share those with. In the meantime she ended up breaking up with her boyfriend, ironically just a few months before I had my very first kiss. When she broke up with her boyfriend she was absolutely devastated (they had been together almost a year or so), and relied on me a lot back then. Which I was more than happy to support because for the first time in my life I felt like I belonged somewhere. I felt like I was actually part of someone’s life. I didn’t feel like I ever bothered her, like I was ever intruding in her life. I felt like I was truly part of her world, like she actually remembered my existence when I was not around, and at now-16 years of age that had literally been the first time I had felt that. I never had a true friend before her. Not sure I ever did after her either.

On easter 2008 we finally convinced our moms to let us meet. Her family had a whole goddamn country house with a huge plot of land, so it was decided I was gonna visit her first. So I got semi-sedated and got into my first plane ride EVER, and for those of you that are reading this and know me (although I doubt anyone is reading at all), you know how terrified of planes I am. You know how BIG of a gesture it is for me to get into a fucking plane for the first time in my life for a person.

I already knew she was pretty. I mean, we had talked on the webcam a couple of times before (just a few times because the internet back then was really terrible). The blue eyes I mentioned, and the most fucking beautiful silky blonde hair you’ve ever seen. But when I saw her the first time on that airport it still took my breath away. Even more, what truly surprised me, was the huge smile she gave as soon as she saw me out of the gate and she rushed to hug me. I was paralyzed. I mean yes I was happy and hugged her back, which was a huge deal because back then I was not touchy feely at all (and she was VERY). But I was paralyzed. Because I had never in my entire 16 years of age seen anyone smile that big or that brightly at seeing me. Hell, I suppose I had never seen anyone smile that brightly at all. As the day progressed she was so legit happy that I was there, and I could never fully wrap my head around it. We drove to her house and her mom took the long way just so they could show me all the interesting spots in her city, and she shared tidbits of her daily life that I still didn’t know, despite us being so close, because those are the things you only learn by actually being next to the person irl. Later on she introduced me to her two best friends in school, and we all decided to watch a horror movie.

Yes, it’s THAT cliche.

Now, you see, I’m absolutely fucking impervious to horror movies. Yes I get jumpscared just as much as anyone else, but I don’t get scared. So I was sitting there a bit lowkey bored, narrating the entire plot of the movie and what would happen a few scenes before it did because the movie was just that easy to guess. And she had taken complete ownership of my left arm the entire time, being half super scared and half impressed I could guess every single thing on the plot. Later on she apologized for not letting go of my arm because she knew I wasn’t as touchy feely as she was, and I was once again taken aback because I come from a ridiculously touchy-feely country and NO ONE ever apologizes for it or respects my boundaries on it.

The next day we wake up bright and early to go to her ranch-thingy. She slept on top of me on the car almost all the way there. I must have woken up like a whole hour before her but didn’t move at all.

I’m a city slick. I’m a huge city slick, through and through. Which means I am both fascinated and absolutely terrified on any plot of grass bigger than a garden. And her country house was fucking amazing. I had only experienced the true freedom of being in nature a few times in my life, and she made sure to show me every nook and crane of the forest surrounding it. Because yes it was a forest and not a jungle like where I lived, and that made it all the more magical.

But the truly one magical thing in the entire 4-days weekend was the stars. You see, I am absolutely in love with the stars. It’s stupid to say something like this when I was retelling the greatest love story of my life, but the stars are my one true love. I got my first telescope when I was five years old. My mother cannot for the life of her explain where I got this obsession from. She always said I was already born that way. So I find myself for the first time in my life with the least amount of light pollution I’ve ever been subject to in my entire life (even nowadays). For the first time in my life I has actually been able to see the Milky Way with my own two eyes. And what made everything even more impressive was that it was a full moon, and the night sky still looked as incredible as it’s supposed to look. Honestly it might have been a great contender to the beauty of her blue eyes.

The moment I remember the most is us laying down on some beach towels (no idea why they had those in the countryside), stargazing for hours at end. By then we were two full states to the south of mine, so I believe the technical definition of what I was feeling is fucking freezing my inexistent balls off. I had gotten dressed in just some jeans and a tshirt way before the sun set, and I was dammed if I was gonna interrupt our stargazing to go put on some decent clothes. I remember her asking a few times if I was cold, and I also remember myself lying through my teeth saying I had gotten used to it by then. Blatant lies, my nipples could cut through fucking glass at the moment. But I wasn’t gonna interrupt it because it was just the two of us on a grassy clearing, her family was at least 200m away and we couldn't even hear them anymore and it was just us and the stars and her hands were so close to mine that I could feel the heat (the only source of it for my beach-town ass I suppose). It was the perfect fucking moment. The moment most people dream of having their entire lives. I have no idea how long we stayed there, but it was a few hours for sure. Her mom had to call us back inside, and nothing broke my heart more. We talked about anything and everything. I told her what I knew of astronomy and I could see for the first time I was fascinating her with knowledge. Because I had always felt and will always feel like a peasant in the presence of a princess when it comes to her. With how cultured and educated and just fucking smart she always had been. But as I told her of the constellations (sometimes grabbing her hand to point to the stars and make her spot them better), and proclaimed my love for the night sky, she listened. She listened and I had never felt heard before in my life. She listened and I felt I had managed to make her fall in love with the stars a little bit by just talking about them.

She listened and I felt I had managed to make myself fall in love in her a little bit by just seeing the way she looked at me as I talked.

All good things come to an end and time had come for me to go back home. I will never forget how she hugged me goodbye on that same airport. Where I had seen the brightest smile on my life and now I could see she was holding back tears for me. Because I was leaving. I was important enough in someone’s life that they were about to cry because I wasn’t going to be around anymore. She way she whispered “I’m gonna miss you so much” on my ear, on such a low note I am sure it was just so her mother wouldn’t hear her, and her voice will haunt me for the rest of my life. She told me a few days later that she did cry on her way to school that morning.

After this it was near impossible to not be with her at all times. We texted constantly, and used to talk like 2 whole hours on the phone before bed. Once again I must remind you this was 2008 so it was no cheap business. Her mother started to try to separate us a bit, insisting she didn’t contact me as much, even tho I was sure the one who could not afford those phone bills, not her. It all culminated on what was ironically (or perhaps planned by her mother?) brazilian Valentine’s day (we are the only country in the world that celebrates in on St. Anthony’s day, which is June 12th). It was the first day in almost two years we didn’t talk at all, because of how much her mother had nagged her about it. The next day we talked as if we had been separated by a war for a decade.

I’m gonna take a break here to let everyone know that no, I did not think I was in love with her back then. I don’t think she knew either, but it’s hard to tell.

Her mother planned her entire july winter break to the minute just so she could spend the least amount of time in my house as possible. We got 5 days instead of the previous 4. But her mother came up with a ridiculous amount of trips for the family. She visit 3 different countries (and a whole different state inside her own country) within 30 fucking days. That’s how bad it had gotten then. Our SMSs had to be cut down to just two or three a day because of it.

But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because when she arrived at my house (her family had insisted in meeting mine before letting her stay) I was able to see from three floors up how brightly she had smiled at seeing me again.

I’ll make this part short: we stayed cooped inside blankets the entire time, playing on my PS2. It was so ridiculous that my mom, maaaany years later, told me she usually left the house for hours at time just to give us an opportunity of finally doing something about our very obvious feelings. Unlike the trip we took to her ranch, this one was filled with 3am deep existencial talks. And unlike the other trip, we spent the whole time sleeping on the same bed. Not a whole lot happened other than us dancing around the obvious feelings and how to deal with being so close to each other.

Nothing beside the very last morning together. I remember always waking up after her, because that’s just how we were. I remember she was already up, reading this book in fucking german of all things. It had been the first day of the entire week we had a meager ray of sunshine. And the way my window and ourselves were positioned, the sun was shinning directly on her. I woke up to the vision of an angel. I had never seen hair in such a warm bright color. I had never seen eyes that were the living embodiment of a spring afternoon sky. I woke up and her propped up on a couple of pillows, reading under the weak morning sun was the first thing I saw. It was the first thing I saw and I could swear I was still dreaming.

Because for the first time in all this, I could not contain and muffle the voice inside my head that was screaming: I want to wake up next to this every single day for the rest of my life.

It was the last time I woke up next to her for the rest of my life.

To my credit I did shake off my daze from the sight quite fast. I had gotten so good to drowning out these feelings that I was great at putting my poker face back up. We talked, we had breakfast, we let ourselves feel a bit sad about her leaving.

Then, just about half an hour before we actually had to go shower to take her to the station, it happened. The one moment that made me feel confident this all wasn’t just in my head. It all wasn’t just wishful thinking of a lonely pathetic girl who got way too bullied in high school.

We were having an impromptu pillow fight cause why not. That’s how girls who are secretly in love handle their feelings after all. It’s universal I think. And, well, on the overall 9 days we spent together irl I never actually beat her once because I’m just that much of a noddle. But this one fight we were both in bed, with weak footing and etc. You can see where this is going.

So on a scene to rival any anime, or that one gif of girls playing handball that fall on top of each other, she fell on top of me. Well, did she fall? I don’t know. For all I know, she planned.

And we had the moment. The gaze. Those few indescribable seconds of your life that you’re always gonna remember like yesterday, no matter how old you get. She had each of my hands pinned to the side of my head, and at first I thought we were still fighting so I just struggled and laughed and was saying stuff like “get off me ya psycho!”. But then I looked up. I looked up and.

And then I felt it. I felt everything her eyes were telling me. She wasn’t playing with me anymore. She was staring at me as if she already knew it was going to be the last time. She was staring at me as if it was a love story because it was. She was staring at me as if her entire existence, as if the whole oxygen on the earth itself depending on my presence.

She was staring at me like I has never been looked at before, or since. Even with a 3-years long relationship I had muuuch later on. No one had never, or will ever, look at me the way she looked at me.

And I froze. I froze because I had no idea what else to do. I froze because inside my head back then this was still wrong. Girls should not kiss. Girls should never kiss.

It was wrong.

It was so wrong, but nothing, not a single piece of bigot ramble ever uttered in history would make me feel more scared than losing my best friend. Nothing in the world scared me more than losing her.

Could I cross this boundary? Did she want to? Or was it just a spur on the moment thing?

But then she stared at my lips and I could not help but lick my own. Out of instinct, out of craving, out of love.

To the risk of getting an angry mob to my house right now, no, we did not kiss.

In fact, I dont quite remember the next few seconds at all. It had been single the most intense moment in my life at this point. It is still one of the most intense moments I’ve ever experienced. I completely blanked out of how I actually got pulled out of it and back into the land of living. Next thing I know we are sitting on opposite sides of the bed, trying to move away from the awkwardness. We did manage, in a couple of minutes. and things went back to normal between us.

But things would never be back to normal within me.

I’m gonna take a pause here to point out I’m bisexual. So like every bisexual, I am a very confused person. Cause you see, the moment you figure out you're bisexual it’s so much more confusing than figuring out you're fully homosexual. Because in the moment, things don’t just click. Things dont just start to magically make sense. I was 16 and I had absolutely liked guys before. Was it with this intensity? No because I was fucking 16. She was the first person I was been truly in love with. But I know it in my soul that if she was a dude I would love her with the exact same intensity. This particular discourse took me another three years to solve, but I digress.

And then she left.

She left and, like I said, her mother had programed her entire july milimetrically so we could be as far apart as possible. She left my house straight back to her ranch, not even her own house, And they have no internet there, so no MSN. Just a single 30-minutes phone call a day, for the 4 days after we had spent the entire week cooped up in bed inside blankets and playing lame-ass RPGs. And then right after that she left for germany for two full weeks. But before that particular trip, she did manage to get home. She got home to a letter of her grandma that read...

Well to be honest I cannot tell you what it read exactly. Because she was extremely vague about it when telling me. But it was enough to destroy her. It was enough to make her think that her grandma would not want anything to do with her anymore and it was based off somewhat new events. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out the full contents of the letter. Her family is from the brazilian Bible Belt. But back then, at 16, confused as fuck, and already preemptively heartbroken, I legit had no idea what it said. She was vague and I didn’t want to pry. I just wanted to make her stop crying. I just wanted to put that beautiful smile back in her face but on that day I could feel her slipping away for the first time.

The rest of the story takes place in just a bit under two months. Maybe 6 weeks at most.

She goes to germany and finds a boyfriend, as one does. She leeches on this boy like a lifeline, but never stops texting me our 3 international texts we were allowed daily. In fact, the first thing she did after kissing him was pulling off her phone as texting me.

You can imagine how well this guy takes it.

Now, she goes back to brasil and this guy actually lives somewhat close to her. It’s a doable relationship. Once they both have access to internet and MSN again, and she is fast to introduce us, so happy that both of the most important people in her life are meeting. Even tho they had been together for like 3 weeks at this point.

I’m ok with it because, well, I still hadn’t figured myself out. I know no one will believe this, but I honestly did not feel jealousy. In fact, it was almost relief. Relief that I would not need to look into my feelings any further than I had back in july. I was happy for her. She seemed genuinely happy with this guy, and so was I.

And then Independence Day weekend comes and hell starts to... well, not break loose, but certainly get weaker on the seams. In here Independence Day is on September 7th, but both on my city and hers there's a city holiday on the 8th. On that year it ended up getting us a 4-day weekend again, and obviously I thought I was the one who was gonna be invited to visit her. I has been counting on it, planning for it.

Two weeks or so before that she informs me that she wants to invite her boyfriend over instead of it, which is like. Ok. Fair. But for the first time in this entire story I felt jealousy. Because that ranch, those stars, that sky... it was our place. I did not wanna share those experiences I had with her with anyone else. But I kept quiet of course, because how could I not? I tell her “yeah it’s a bit upsetting because I was hopping we could see each other, but I am genuinely happy you get to spend time with him!”

She ghosts me in that week.

To this day, 12 years and 2 months later, I do not know why. I do not know how. I know her grandma called again when she learned the boyfriend was gonna come over and not me, but that’s all.

She ghosted me before ghosting was even a thing. So I had no other social parameter to deal with the situation. I will never forget the absolutely heart wrenching pain I felt when I figured out she had blocked me on MSN. It’s indescribable.

It’s indescribable because she was the first person I felt like actually gave a flying fuck if I lived of died, if I was happy or if I cried. And she had up and decided to fucking cut me out her life without a single fucking word of explanation. One night everything was fine, we even had a group chat with her boyfriend. The next day she is gone forever. I don’t know, nor I think I will ever learn what triggered it. What was the last fucking draw, the last fucking prejudiced word directed at her that made her do it.

My world had been full of color, full of life, and even if literally everyone around me in real life would be so much happier if I didn’t exist (back then I DID NOT get along with my mother), she had seemed this entire time to be so much happier with me around. She was the one person who liked my existence. And literally overnight, I wake up and my world is empty. My world is empty and my air is missing and I don’t fucking know why.

It’s been 12 years and I still don’t know why.

Her boyfriend harassed me a bit back on orkut. Like, I have no idea why. It was unprompted. But it does give you a big fucking clue does it now?

I haven’t gotten a single word from her ever again. I know she’s alive, that’s not the fucking point of the story. I know because I tried to contact her again through every fucking means possible. I even sent her a letter of all things for fuck’s sake. When facebook came along I found her there too and sent her a message. Once 3 years after the fact, and then again 6 years after the fact. That was the last time I tried contacting her.

I cannot say I was “faithful”, so to speak. I cannot say she has been the only thing in my mind. I cannot say that I have not loved again, because I have. I had a serious 3-year relationship, as I mentioned. I had actual gay disasters stories in between. She has not remained the foremost thing in my mind. She has not remained my one true love. There were times where I spent months without thinking about her. Even silly crushes are enough to stray my thoughts away, to stray my heart away

But what worth are those times if I always go back to thinking of her as soon as I see myself without someone? What worth are those times where she is not in my mind, if she had never left my heart to begin with?

What worth is forgetting about her at times when she is my default setting?

I know what you're thinking. “you’re not in love with her, you’re in love with the idea of what could have been”. And you’re absolutely right. I know you are. I’m fully aware of it, of the implications of it, not only on my love life but my mental health.

But she has been the single most influential person in my life. She was the one that got me to writing. She was the one who made face my mother and have The Talk we needed for fucking 16 years about who my father was. Fuck, she is the sole responsible for setting my life on that path, and all the domino effect of events that happened because of the decision of talking to my mother about it. She was the one that made me figure out I was bisexual. Not a lesbian, definitively not straight, but not gay either. Bisexual, out and proud.

She was my first love.

She was my first love and she is the one that makes me give some credit to the saying “at the end of your life you will see you’ve fallen in love with the same person over and over again”.

She was my first love and she makes me go fucking crazy enough to give the whole “soulmates” concept a decent thought, because this cannot have been natural. Loneliness cannot explain the entire thing. It cannot explain how ridiculously drawn I was to her right away. Attraction doesn’t explain it either. It cannot explain how insanely synced up I’ve always felt to her. How insanely connected.

I’m not gonna lie, I loved my ex. Truly and deeply. They were the only person to ever treat me respect, and I felt almost as connected to them as I did to her. Almost.

If we are getting technical, I felt, like, 95% synced up with them. Which is more than the vast majority of humankind can only dream of feeling.

But it was not 100%.

There has only been one person in my life that I have felt 100% connected with. One person in my life I have not been able to shake away, have not been able to get over. Oh I have moved on. I have moved on and moved back in and then moved on again. Many times, over and over.

But I have not gotten over you. I will never get over you. What happened. How it ended. You were my biggest heartbreak. You were my biggest love story, and I didn’t even get to live it.

You make me so illogical that I sincerely hope there is a next life out there. One we can meet, sit down, and talk.

I’m sure you are a completely different person right now. I am a completely different person too. And it is insane, it is illogical, and it is immature to think that these two completely different people would still have any vestige of a thing in common like we did as kids. Because we were kids. We were kids and now we are both adults, and have a single damn thing changed?

A whole fuckton of them changed. Seasons changed. Years changed. The entire fucking world changed. I have changed more than you can possible imagine a person would in 12 years.

But you being the default setting of my heart has not changed. No matter how “unfaithful” I’ve been to you. No matter how much I will keep on living not being attached to you. No matter how much I know at some point I will forget you, forget this feeling, and bask into the pleasure of a new love. No matter how much at some point I will surely think “wow, what a crazy bitch I was back then, with all these feelings for a random girl who certainly doesn’t even remember I exist”.

And that’s one of my biggest fears you see. Cause for me you are half the fucking book. For me you’re the constant element that comes back when sea is calm and things are ok.

And I fear that to you I was nothing more than a line, maybe a throwaway paragraph in your life.

#my stuff #my writting #gay disaster

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safaiagem · 3 years

Photo

Photo by @psychvamp25 who has been holding me together these last few days and is just the best person in the world.

Think Upon Revenge - Chapter 43 - Part 2 of the Vengeance Has No Foresight Series - Game of Thrones

Hey everyone. So this chapter is late, and if you follow my Tumblr, then you know why. On Christmas Day of all days, I got a nasty comment on Revenge is a Wild Justice that someone then deleted, but I get emails, so I saw it. And I sort of spiraled [wine was involved too]. In the two decades I have been in fandom, I have never gotten more entitled or rude comments than I have from the Game of Thrones fandom. I've never had more people tell me the story I'm writing is somehow wrong. Needless to say, it got to me not in the sense that I think I'm a shitty writer, but it soured all of fandom for me. That's not fair to the nice people that do leave lovely comments, and I appreciate them so much I really do, but the negative ones are the ones that stick in my brain. This is not something that has only happened to me, so I know it's not a me thing but a Game of Thrones thing. So I took some time off and threw myself into work. I'm back home now [traveling during a pandemic is hell; do not do it; I was basically blackmailed/bribed into it] and won't be leaving for a while. If you're one of the people that leaves lovely comments, I appreciate you so much, and I apologize I let the assholes get to me. If you're someone who leaves nasty comments on the free fanfictions that people are dedicating their free time to, please find something else better to do in 2021. If you want someone to go yell at for Game of Thrones, go yell at George for not writing the books when his full-time job is being a writer. Go yell at D&D and how white men in Hollywood can't fail hard enough to get kicked out. But leave the people writing you novel-length free stories that they no actual compensation for alone. Find something better to do in 2021. The next chapter of this fic should be out eventually. I'll finish it before the end of the month, for sure. I hope everyone had a safe and healthy holiday.

The war has ended and Daenerys sits upon the Iron Throne as Westeros begins to heal after so many years of misery. Arya and Gendry continue to try and find their own place in the world but politics have never really been their things. When a mistake is made old grudges rise up and Arya and Gendry find themselves in the middle of a very different type of conflict.

#gendrya #arya stark #gendry waters #gendry x arya #arya x gendry #gendrya fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #my writing #safaia's fics

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tfw-needs-baby · 4 years

Text

sam winchester | internet personas

based on my own experience.

read on ao3?

Sam Winchester and his brother stumbled upon fanfiction and the fandom a while ago. He swore to himself that he would never, ever go back and visit the crazy people that existed there.

Well, sitting in his room in the bunker, he was bored and had nothing much to do because the supernatural had been pretty quiet for the past month or so and he was scrolling aimlessly through new articles and finding nothing. He doesn’t know how or why the idea popped into his head, but it came and he was curious at the time, so why not?

‘Best places to’ Nope, delete that.

‘Where to join a fandom’ Delete that too. That just sounded stupid.

‘Fandom friendly sites.’ Yeah, that sounded about right. He clicked onto the first link, and it immediately brought him to a site called ‘Fandom.’

How ironic. Although it didn’t exactly help him much, it was just an explanation guide to their platform and what it had to offer. The rest of the links weren’t much help either, and he sighed. Alright, how to find the fans...wasn’t there something called livejournal?

According to a couple of articles, old and inactive journals had been purged, but were still doing pretty well. And then, the Winchester searched up ‘best places to read fanfiction.’

A couple of suggestions appeared underneath ‘Popular on the web.’

‘Wattpad - tumblr - kindle words - deviantart - archive of our own - asianfanfics’

Huh. Visiting a couple of sites, Wattpad and Fanfiction.net and Archive Of Our Own popped up frequently, so he decided to visit Wattpad first. He went to browse works and choose fanfiction, and it brought him to a selection of hot and trendy stories with millions of views on them. Woah. It ranged from k-pop to a selection of animes to CBS shows and weird crossovers. The ‘x reader’ tag seemed very popular and he shivered, reminding him of Becky.

Signing up wasn’t hard either. It had only taken him a couple of minutes. But when he was reading a selected few from the hot section, they didn’t exactly grab his attention. A lot of them seemed to be written by younger ten to fifteen year olds. They did have a large amount of potential and amazing storylines, he’ll give them that.

Then he wandered over to Fanfiction.net. The sign up process was easy, but the site was a bit more historical and a bit more him. There were multiple forums, and he scrolled down and viewed a couple of them. Oh. They were similar to roleplay, but just - more building along a storyline with it, if that made any sense. The sign up was pretty easy here too, and he smiled as two notifications popped up in his gmail for both sites.

Backtracking now, he went off to ‘archive of our own,’ nicknamed ‘ao3’ for short and a paragraph popped up and he skimmed through it quickly. It was just a warning that everything could be viewed by whoever and whatnot. The writing here definitely seems way more advanced, way more complex and interesting, with canon divergences going all out and unheard au’s. And the cliche plots we’re simply adorable.

He went over to sign up, and raised an eyebrow when it stated that you needed to get an invitation, and all you had to do was enter in an email. And wait a day for an invitation.

Hopping onto tumblr, he made an account quickly and started scrolling through it, and everything seemed different somehow. Like, more modern day than the last time he came to the page. The fandom had definitely become smaller due to a ‘nsfw ban’ and he couldn’t decide whether that was a good or bad thing. They had gifsets of memories that had happened about three years ago, with their final stand against Chuck, and he smiled as he went through year’s old blogs that never updated anymore, reblogging everything ‘Supernatural’ underneath the username ‘babytrenchcoatnougat’ and he started to tear up when he stumbled upon a post where they had created a small art of playing the rainbow slinky with Dean based on a gifset of a memory. He still remembers how happy Dean had been when he got it just for him, he played with it for the next week.

A couple of week’s later, Sam want’s to do more than reblog and comment on content. Sam does have artistic potential, and he could definitely look into that. Although, writing seems easier at the moment, and he scrolls through an endless amount of fanfiction on archive of our own - ranging from major character death to general fanfiction - from his brother and best friend sleeping together to him turning into the boyking to high school universes to Apocalyptic worlds where they have failed.

He wants to write his own world, where they’re all happy and care-free and able to actually live happily, where no one he’s loved has died. Making a post on tumblr he states: By any chance, is there anyone on this platform that can help me with a non-romantic general Supernatural fanfiction?

He places a couple of normal tags that fit into the category, then presses post. About an hour later, he gets a reblog from someone called @ misha-moose-dean-burger-lover [and wow, that sounds like a handful] offering to help.

I’m available if you need me to, @ babytrenchcoatnougat ; what’s the plot? We can discuss more in DM’s if you’d like! Besides, I’m free for the week, but if you need a beta reader I can offer a couple of people that I know.

Sam sends her a message.

babytrenchcoatnougat: can you give me some advice or writing tips if you have any? i'm not looking to make any implied romantic pairings in the fic

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: well, that depends, what’s the fic going to be about?

babytrenchcoatnougat: i don't know yet, maybe team free will 2.0 just taking a roadtrip to nowhere without a destination in sight after defeating chuck?

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: eeeeee

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: that sounds like a awesome idea misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: you're definitely going to want to have specific destinations in mind, and only a hint of angst, and what they’re going to do at these locations

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: use transition words and make sure it doesn’t repeat often, descriptive details but don’t use it in every scene, and make sure there are frequent movements in the characters so they don’t sound so stiff, and make sure to slowly transition into the next scene, as time skipping to every scene will make the story seem boring. misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: make sure the characters aren’t ooc either!

And so, Sam writes. He writes until his eyes hurt and he definitely needs some sleep, so he sends a quick message to a beta to read it over for him and they do, gushing about how the plot was wonderful and badly needed after all the terrible angst that occurred this season. He smiles, giving his thanks before uploading the first chapter out of 15, 13k words, onto ao3.

[He checks over the grammar and tags over fifteen times.]

He can hardly contain his excitement, jumping around happily all day, even baking Dean a pie which makes him get sprayed with holy water and go through every test just to make sure he isn’t some supernatural creature.

Later that afternoon, he checks his ao3 underneath the same username and finds out it’s gotten about 150 hits, and 38 kudos, which makes his heart swell. He’s also gotten a comment, and he presses comments eagerly.

‘Kill yourself, psycho virgin fag.’

He re-reads the comment a couple of times, eyes tearing up and dropping his phone onto the kitchen table recklessly. What the fuck. Was his story really that bad? Did those people who didn’t leave a kudo really hate his story that much? Did the fans think his story was too child-like? Badly written? OOC? Do they really hate him that bad that he actually should commit-

Sam breaks down right then and there, pushing his computer aside, placing his head down and crying softly. Castiel and Dean don’t find him until an hour later, and he’s still softly crying. They rush over to him, Dean quickly sitting to the right while Castiel sits to the left. “Sammy? What happened?” Dean asks, and the younger Winchester shakes his head.

“N’thing.” He mumbles, and the older Winchester sighs. He’s just being stubborn, when he doesn’t want other people to worry about him, afraid that he’ll give them his problems. “Sam, please, if you talk to us, then we may fix the problem together. Remember, we made that promise two years ago, to be more open with each other.” The former-angel now archangel says, pushing Sam’s hair out of his face. Sam takes a shaky breath, pushing himself off the desk and grabs the laptop, opening it up to the recent fanfiction he had written, and Castiel and Dean both skim through it before Dean snatches the laptop. “Is this a fanfiction?” He looks at him as if he’s crazy, and Sam slowly shakes his head in agreement. Castiel walks over to Dean, both of them reading the first chapter silently, and everytime he glances over to see their reactions it seems unchanged. His brother probably thinks he’s weird, and Castiel is going to find him crazy-

“Damn, Sammy, you’ve got talent.” Dean says, and he actually sounds impressed. “W- what?”

“That is incredibly written and a wonderful idea, I think we should go on a roadtrip ourselves,” Dean nodded in agreement. “Is this why you’re crying? I think this is perfect.”

“Wait - you two do find it weird or anything?”

Castiel and Dean look confused. “Why would you think that Sammy? I like it.”

“You should uh - read the comment.” He says, and it takes the angel and older hunter a moment to find the comment section at the bottom, Castiel pointing at the button. Their faces turn into pure fury.

“I’m going to smite them.” Castiel all but growls out, and Dean shuts the laptop closed. “Don’t listen to ‘em, this is fucking amazing, got it? I want the second chapter. Don’t listen to what anyone else says, they're probably jealous that we’ve got a New York bestseller writer and all they can do is write the abc’s.” Dean hugs his brother, Castiel immediately joining right in and Sam sighs happily. They stay there for a bit, muttering out a ‘thank you’ before jumping up slightly, seeing that he’s gotten two more comments on his fanfiction, and nervously opens up the comment section to see that a user called ‘quicksilvermalec’ writing on how much they enjoyed the fic and can’t wait to read the second chapter while an anonymous user has attacked the one that insulted him, throwing a whole truckload of insults and Castiel smiles. “They got what they deserved.” The archangel says, and Dean shouts ‘damn straight’ joyfully. “Would the two of you want to write fanfiction with me, then?” Sam asks while writing the second chapter about an hour later, and the unison ‘yes’ gives him a warm feeling in his chest.

#sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #archangel!castiel #ficlet #gen fic #genfic #supernatural #fluff #representation week

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whatcouldgowrong-ohthat · 5 years

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Hard to be a Stark

I’ve learned that some of these are going to be mini series things within the overall world. I’m thinking Steve’s will have one more part. I have songs for Loki, and Bucky around the corner so keep a look out for those! And the sequels to Sam’s and Steve’s. :)

Also shout out to my beta, @songforherma. They are awesome and handle my crazy very well. XD

Summary: Various Avenger x Reader one-shots with songs from musicals. In this one — Tony Stark has been doing the Ironman for a while now. Kissing babies, shaking hands, still flirting all the live long day, but it’s getting harder and harder to put up the facade. So what happens when his new assistant, you, see him having a drunken heart to heart? Song is “Hard to be the Bard” from Something Rotten!

Honestly - this one is a bit more platonic. If I write a sequel, the romance stuff will show up there.

Warnings: Angst, Drunk Tony, bit of fluff, confessions, cussing, reference to violence

Word Count: 3477 words

Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my permission. :)

Stark. The name in itself held…

Power.

Money.

Authority.

Respect.

But with all those things came…

Assumptions.

Expectations.

Anxiety.

Mockery.

Hostility.

Ignorance.

And understandable sorts of coping mechanisms.

Then came the day he declared himself the Ironman - a superhero meant to protect civilians when no one else could. Gone were the weapons of probable mass destruction his company had become so well known for. Now they were replaced by one. A suit of armor in the hands of one man who could only do his best to protect his country. He wanted to believe he was doing the right thing, taking the suit, doing something with it that helped create peace.

Then New York happened. The Avengers.

Everything shifted. Assumptions and expectations skyrocketed. Anxiety twisted its gnarly claws around his heart, opening the door and introducing a new friend — Post-traumatic stress disorder. He could act like it wasn’t there and that it didn’t exist, but then came the outside opinions. It was easier to ignore them when he was just a Stark. He could put up a facade, act like it didn’t bother him because no one knew what was going on underneath.

You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.

Steve had cut him deep with that one. Mister Cap-sicle over here acting as he knew him. So what did he do?

I think I would just cut the wire.

Of course, after Tony risked his life with that stupid nuke, Steve realized he wasn’t as correct in his assumptions as he first thought. Tony snorted, taking a swig of Scotch before setting it on the counter. “You know what they say,” he spoke to himself. “Just makes an ass of you and me.”

But he couldn’t hold it against the old man after all Steve was dealing with a level of ignorance that came from being under the ice. His defense mechanism was mockery and hostility. Sitting in a chair, Tony stared stoically at the ironsuits across the room. They all looked like tin cans really, something made as a means for survival and turned into something greater. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms. There was always some new hostile just around the corner. That didn’t go away with the suits. If anything, he and the Avengers were greeted by more of them every day which included all of the superhuman threats that the world suddenly kept on facing.

And that was where the coping mechanisms took a turn from understandable to downright unhealthy. Pepper had told him that, commented on it and voiced her concerns like Pepper always does. She needed to work on her timing. That night he’d been black-out drunk and didn’t remember anything. JARVIS had to show him the footage the next day. Guilt wracked his body because he didn’t remember. He didn’t remember screaming at her or throwing the bottle. He didn’t remember telling her to get the fuck out or the fact that he fired her. No, he didn’t remember. And when he watched the video, watched his drunken self shoot a repulser blast to shatter the glass next to her? It was like he felt his heart shatter with it because he knew he didn’t remember that. He knew if he had been any soberer he wouldn’t have done it. He would’ve called Rhodey or Happy to get her out of there before he did something stupid.

However, that was a couple of months ago and now he had a new assistant. Some girl named Y/F/N Y/L/N. She was good at her job and Pepper made sure to find someone that could handle his narcissism and ridiculous schedule, somehow someone of that nature managed to fit the bill. Still - she wasn’t Pepper. He appreciated that she acknowledged that. She never tried to be anything other than herself and it quickly earned his respect.

Ding!

Tony shifted his gaze to the computer when the email popped up. Y/N had sent him his schedule for tomorrow. Brushing it with his pinky, he watched as it popped out of the tiny screen and presented itself as a hologram before him. He couldn’t hide the annoyed huff that escaped his lungs even if he wanted to. “My days are too busy for this,” he muttered, knowing everything was back to back with barely a moment to breathe. It wasn’t Y/N’s fault. She was trying to catch him up on the reality outside. “It’s making me dizzy, there’s so much I gotta do.” Standing up, he walked closer to the schedule and his face scrunched in distaste. “JARVIS, there’s lunches and meetings and poetry readings and great, more interviews.”

“Sir, it’s about learning to combine your roles as a Stark and Avenger in a more efficient manner.”

Tony grimaced. “Traitor,” he told the AI before seeing the photoshoot he had to get up far too early for. If he even went to bed for that matter. “Gotta pose for some photos and how I deplore sitting there for eternity. Then it’s off to the bar where my bartender friend wants to name another drink after me?”

“Would you like for me to call Y/N, sir?”

At this point, Tony had stopped listening to the AI. No, his mind was far too focused on this schedule. “Then it’s back to my room, where I resume my attempt to fix this shit.” At least she knew to give him time in the shop so he could work on the suits.

“Just you and your beer?”

Of course, JARVIS would have a witty retort for that. He always did. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he felt a cold wash over him as he admitted, “And the terrible fear that I might be losing it.” Staring at the bright hologram, the grim reminders, he shook his head and swiped it away. He could think about that later. I mean, it’s not that important.

—

Hiss…

The sound was what woke him from his uncomfortable slumber. He stretched, his spine and shoulders cracking from the effort before he realized he’d fallen asleep with an iron arm in his lap. No wonder his legs were tingly. A lack of blood flow did that. Shaking his head in a futile attempt to rouse himself further, his bleary eyes and yawn signaled that he wasn’t quite there yet. His gaze ran along the lab floor, making sure he hadn’t left a random weapon lying around and it was there his gaze found your little black heels on the floor, tapping patiently. Or was it impatiently? Eh, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead, he stood and set the arm on the counter, sending one of his infamous “Stark smiles” your way.

It was met with the most patient look he had ever seen.

You weren’t irritated?

Tony wholeheartedly meant that today’s events weren’t important. However, that was when we initially thought it. Seeing your face? Seeing the way your brow furrowed not in annoyance, but concern? Yeah, maybe he should’ve put a little more effort into going to sleep.

“Coffee?”

His gaze shifted to the steaming cup that was outstretched in your hand. He took it, mumbling a barely coherent ‘thanks’ before taking in your appearance. Pepper always wore skirts. You wore pants. She always wore blouses. You were what looked to be a simple tank top or t-shirt underneath a blazer. It reminded him of his look. Maybe Pep warned you that the skirts and fancy clothes wouldn’t survive around an Avenger?

“Did Jarvis let you down here?”

“Nope.”

Now he was confused. “Then how —“

“Ms. Potts thought it’d be beneficial to your habits if you had someone capable of hacking.”

“Wait,” Tony gaped, eyeing you with more interest than a curiosity now. “You-You're a —“ You smile and it knocks the wind out of him. Grumbling to himself, he takes a sip of coffee. Tony didn’t really like being bested. “I want to say I’m impressed, but also that means you hacked into advanced tech when you could have knocked.”

“Would you have opened the door?”

“She has a point, sir.”

Tony looked up at the ceiling, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t get an opinion.” He knew they were both right, but did that mean he had to admit it? Really? Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony walked back to the bottle that had been carelessly left behind on the table. He poured some of it into his coffee before drinking most of the hot, bitter, and now strong liquid. “Seriously, you’re a hacker?”

“Just for fun.” You shrugged and he snickered. You reminded him of when he first got into tech and making new things. It was just for fun then. His gaze shifted to the lab and he knew that wasn’t the case anymore. Meanwhile, you had turned to the iPad tucked into your arm, scrolling through it. “So first on the agenda —“

“Nothing.” You looked up, the puzzled expression enough to make him feel satisfied. He missed being able to stoop an assistant, confuse them and leave them floundering. If that was how it was going to be, he was sure you wouldn’t last long.

Recovering from your confusion, you tucked your hair behind your ear and shook your head. “No, Mr. Stark, there won’t be any cancellations today. You need to get back into the world. Everyone wants to hear from —“

“I don’t care what everyone wants. I’m Tony fuckin’ Stark. When have I ever cared about what other people want?”

“When your mother asked you to say goodbye to her and your father for a holiday, but you didn’t.” There was a brief moment of silence as the matter-of-fact tone shifted to a much softer one and you added, “They passed away that weekend in a car accident.”

Tony froze, his back to you. He would’ve expected some assumption that he cared when he cut off weapons production for Stark Industries. He would’ve expected some ignorant comment that he cared when he took that nuke into space. Apparently, between the two of you, he had been the one to slip up. He’d been the one to assume. Trying to recover, a wry smile curved his lips as he asked, “Figure that out in your time hacking my software?”

“No, sir. Happy told me. After…After the incident with Ms. Potts, he felt that I needed a little preparation as to the job I was being hired for.”

Happy. Yeah, Tony would remember to talk with the man at a later time. Turning to face you, he downed the rest of his coffee before dropping it in the bin next to his desk. “You know, it’s hard. It’s really hard.”

Confusion. Again. “I don’t understand.”

He grinned and gestured to everything, a perfected swagger in his step as he told you, “I make it look easy, but honey, believe me. It’s hard.”

“Yes, I gathered that from the hangover and the crutch you’ve developed for alcohol in the morning.”

Ah, you had bit more bite than he expected. Looping an arm around your shoulder, he was surprised that you refused to tense under his touch. They did prepare you for the mess that was Tony Stark. Waving his hand, holograms of videos on youtube, news articles, and various photographs appeared to surround you two. You took it all in, more curious than confused now that you started piecing together what he was getting at. “It’s so incredibly hard, so inconceivably, unbelievably hard.”

He was whining, throwing a tantrum because he wanted his way. You both knew it, but he didn’t know the assistant he had. “It’s hard to be a Stark?” you asked, a hint of sympathy in your voice as you stepped out from under his touch. Your eyes studied everything. These weren’t just something randomly picked. He had these saved. He studied everything that was said about him and, judging by the negative articles, he believed more of the bad than the good.

“Honestly? I don’t know how I do it.” You looked at him, but he no longer studied you. Instead, he was staring at the images just above. His voice was soft as he admitted, “There’s only so much of me to go around.” Seeing him like this, open and vulnerable, you weren’t sure what to expect. Perhaps it was the booze that made him act like this? No, you’d seen the footage. Pepper was completely open about Tony’s faults and wanted you to be prepared. On booze, he was angry. He wasn’t vulnerable, but far from it. But as soon as you blinked, just once, just a brief moment, that vulnerability was gone. It was replaced by that Stark smile that graced all the tabloids and interviews. “I’ve got so many fans with so many demands.” He looked at you, smirking. “I can hardly go take a piss.”

“Can’t even pee? I can schedule a bathroom break if you’d like.”

Tony snorted. Alright, he knew he was going to like you. “Be it a hero-freak or another autograph seeker, they all want a piece of this.”

“It happens when one is in the spotlight as much as you are,” you told him honestly. Walking to the desk, you took a seat and looked over the schedule, deleting a couple of things here and there. He spun around, distracted and looking at everything. Tony was doing everything he could to look like he was okay, but just watching him showed you that he was fragile. Instead of a whole man, he’d had pieces of himself chipped away over the years and it seemed his kidnapping had taken out a huge piece. Now he was struggling to glue together what was left.

“It’s a cross that I bear,” he agreed. “I’m like Jesus, I swear!” You rolled your eyes and he pointed at you, reminding you that, “It’s a burden, but I suffer through it.”

“He is suffering,” came JARVIS’s voice, a somehow mocking tone preprogrammed into the AI.

It made you laugh, but the sound died on your lips when Tony sat on the edge of the desk, his leg bumping your knee. “It’s all part of the game, the trappings of fame, but somebody’s gotta do it.” You looked up from your schedule, tucking it into your chest as you eyed him cautiously. He seemed to be tipping on an edge of sorts. Wasn’t this the sort of thing someone discussed with a therapist? Not their newest assistant? “And I know,” he mumbled, shifting his gaze from the floor to you. He leaned forward, nodding to himself as if he were trying to convince his brain. “I know I gotta go and get back to the fans and fame.”

“Yeah, you do.”

He rubbed his temples, huffing as he pleaded, “Don’t make me do it. Don’t make me go through it.”

“Mr. Stark —“

“Oh, I need to get me a drink.” He rose, moving faster than you could have anticipated. Colliding with the chair, he sent you rolling a few feet as he grabbed the bottle he’d been nursing. Taking a few good swigs of the burning liquid, he exhaled slowly. “It’s hard.”

“You’ve said that a few times, Mr. Stark.”

“Well, it’s true!” His shout made you jump though he didn’t seem to notice. No, he was long gone in his drunken stupor. Part of you was starting to wonder if he was even sober when he first woke. Sitting on the floor, he stretched his legs out and rest his head against the desk. He looked spent. “I know being a Stark made me famous,” he whispered. “But being famous is just so not fun.” Waving his hand again, the images of Ironman vanished. Instead, it was replaced by trashy tabloids and photos of himself and news articles with various women, at random parties, creating an image that he’d forced himself to maintain. The hologram divided you two, creating a wall it felt you had to break through if you had any hope of surviving this job. Picking up the bottle, he pointed to one of the older photos before taking another swig. “What people just don’t understand is that fame is demanding. It’s mentally challenging and it’s a bore, jeez, it’s such a chore.”

“To sit in a room full of people?”

To prove yourself to a room full of people

He shifted his gaze, meeting your eyes. There was a fog over the welcoming brown of his irises. Tony was drunk. Truthfully, he admitted, “I hate it.” He exhaled, his shoulders slumping. Would he continue? You weren’t sure.

“You know, you’re trying to find some short line or an innovative idea and you’re pacing the floor and hoping for…Hell, maybe just a bit of divine intervention?”

“Is that what happened with the suit?” You were curious, your tech-savvy brain aching to understand how he created something so brilliant. You were a hacker, sure, but that was nothing like being an inventor.

Upon mentioning the suit, he offered the faintest of smiles. It seemed it might be one of the better topics for him to discuss. “That was the one little nugget. That one little spark. I was ready to die and then eureka, I found it and I was ready to start.”

Silence fell between you two and you allowed yourself to smile, to feel at ease. If he remembered this, it might help him adjust to working with you. There’d be a level of trust. If not, then you could work with the information you’ve learned and slowly gain some level of traction with him. Everything took time and patience and the man sitting across from you was no different.

Not even close.

“It’s hard,” you finally agreed, earning his concentration once more.

“Wouldn’t it be hard to do something as good as the last thing you did?”

“It was already great.”

Tony shook his head and you felt like you took two steps back. He didn’t see it that way. He didn’t see himself or any of his accomplishments that way. “It’s totally hard. I’ve got fortune and fame. Everyone knows my name.”

“Can’t help it.”

“But it’s still freakin’ hard.”

You watched him carefully. He was so fragile at the moment, unlike you’d ever seen. You never would have thought of an Avenger as frail. That was your mistake. That was everyone’s mistake. The world had come to put these guys on pedestals with no concern for the fact that they were still human and broken. They all had scars and emotions to process so that they could form some semblance of a less than shattered individual. It hurt having to see it first hand, but you knew that if you hadn’t, you’d never believe it.

“You’ve taught me a lot, Mr. Stark,” you whispered, looking down at the tablet and clearing the schedule. There was always tomorrow, but today… You looked back at him. Today wasn’t the day. “I’ve cleared your schedule and will leave you to the rest of your day.” The surprise on his face made you smile. You had been a couple of steps ahead of the genius. “On two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“One, no more alcohol. Spend the day tinkering on something.” You shrugged as you stood up, waving one hand through the air to clear away the mess of history between you two. “Maybe create something new or go for a drive — something you want to do. And two, get some sleep tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow morning and we’ll try again.”

His eyes studied you as if trying to find the sneaky detail you were hiding from him. All his friends did that. Instead of being upfront, they hid a detail that would later be used to help him in some sort of way. That wasn’t the case with you. No, you were nothing but honest. No secrets. No ploys. “No alcohol and get some sleep.” Tony chuckled, holding up the bottle to you before dropping it in the bin to his right. “You got a deal.”

Progress. That was what you felt when you saw him willingly take you up on your offer. There was hope for a structured, professional relationship. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Stark.”

Turning on your heel, you made your way to the door to give the man some peace and quiet.

“Tony.”

You paused, looking at him over your shoulder. “Sir?”

“Call me Tony.”

All you could do was nod before you left, closing the door behind you. Looking down at the schedule, you clicked on the title and slowly backspaced on the name “Mr. Stark”, replacing it with “Tony”. Well, surely it’d be a mostly professional relationship.

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littlefearsdoodles · 5 years

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Further lessons in collaborations

Some further lessons, thoughts and misc wotsits on the Little Fears Sunday collabs. It’s a long, but maybe an educational post for any bloggers wanting to collaborate with each other. Some links to start with, for reference.

Little Fears Sunday collaborations Guidelines & initial email

Tracking collaborations

Straight up, I screwed this up so badly. On the initial posting, I had over 100 people email me. I reckon about 20 will follow through, but I got lost in the first barrages of emails. I know of at least three people that I’ve left hanging that I need to speak too. Liz, I was meant to send a story. Anonyole and Willow I was meant to send an image for approval. One of them has been waiting for two weeks. I just keep forgetting to do it because my I took on too much. I tried noting names on pen and paper. That only worked for so long.

This was confounded because I initially said, hit me up on social media or email. So I had messages coming from every direction. It wasn’t like I could just search my emails because I had DMs everywhere. Doh!

I’ve come to the conclusion I should use a spreadsheet. Four columns, name, email, website and collab progress. I can’t do that on previous collab contacts because then I’m collecting data. To do that I’d have to include a GDPR notice in the initial email stating what data I’m collecting, what I will do with it and how will I protect it. That’s something I’ll definitely do going forward.

Usernames, pen names and real names

My focus on always referring to peoples pen names has confused a few folks. It’s another thing I need to add to the initial email.

People post under pen names for a variety of reasons. The embarrassment that they write fan-fics. Not wanting family or friends to see their art. Hiding from a nutty ex-partner. Or sometimes, they just want to be identified as someone else. An imaginary online-persona. All valid reasons to respect someone’s username.

Privacy is darn near non-existent, online and real life, nowadays. What little control we have over privacy we should try to respect.

So if someone leaves comments on my website under the username AlphaDog345 but emails me under the name Robert, I’ll do my best to refer to them as AlphaDog345 unless corrected.

WordPress scheduling

I was asked by Nobbin how we could synchronize posts and link to each other’s stories ahead of time. Well, in WordPress Gutenberg, when you make a post you get a little link icon next to the post name. Click on that, and you can copy the URL of scheduled posts.

Videos pre-schedule

I’ve explained why I’m sticking with WordPress Gutenberg before, despite my straight up hate for it. But one issue that’s been noticed is that I can’t schedule videos that haven’t been published on YouTube already without resorting to classic blocks. There is no workaround in current Gutenberg because it’s crap. So I end up with classic blocks in my HTML or I leave it until 9 am, then post everything.

This has meant, when one collaborator copy pasted my entire post it came out janky as heck on their own site. It’s also meant most of my posts are never bang on 9 am.

#PeterHatesWordPress5.0GutenbergEditor

I think in future I’ll change my initial email to read “around 9 am,” unless someone wants to sync posts. Then I’ll pre-post the video so the URL is usable in WordPress.

Story length

Oh man, haha. Yeah. We had a laugh there. I’m flexible on the 512 character limit. I just didn’t want people writing essay-length stories. Not only would they not fit or work on the Little Fears, but I want the collaborations to be fast and fun. Not tireless hours of work.

This was taken to an extreme by an ex-subscriber, who sent me a chapter of a book he claimed was a short story. Some back and forth and he ended up saying he was trialling me to narrate his entire novel. For free. In the spirit of collaboration.

Yeah… No…

Got a bit pissy when I said I’d have to charge for that amount of work. Anyone who’s ever done audio work will tell you, it takes a staggering amount of time to record, edit, re-record and check through even short stories. A novel would take me a full working week. At least!

I find a lot of folks are up collaborations when asked. But try to be respectful of others time, aye?

Already published stories

I was asked by Ederren on the briefs post if I’d do stories that were already published. Eventually, yes. I’d love to narrate some of the funny stories and creepypastas I’ve read. Especially if they fit well.

Right now though, I’m getting my feet with collaborations. As you can see from this post, I still have refining to do. The initial email explosions died down now, but I got a lot of people submitting any old random story. Out of 40 stories sent to me without an email convo/brief first, maybe 5 worked for the Fears.

Taking submissions for pre-written poetry and fiction is something I need to work into the initial email. It all comes down being specific from the start. Otherwise writings sending submissions and I are just wasting each others time.

So, pre-written stories. In the future, yes, but not yet.

Some collaborations, already published

Knife Skill by Silk

Iron Nick by Peter

The Swing by Alex

Olivia’s Tree by Layne

Masked Sin by Jay

Conference art by Dee

Beau by Sue

Bad Karma by Tre

Conquest by Jessica

Saved by Aimer

Dark Paths by Lauren

I think that’s everyone…

Want to collaborate?

As you can see, I’m still refining my process. If you’re interested in collaborating with me, drop me an email to Peter at [email protected]

Want to support me in some way?

In the mean tie, if you love what I do, and fancy supporting me in some way, you can buy me a cuppa on Ko-Fi. Nobble one of my tees on Threadless. Buy one of my books on Amazon. Grab an original art or a print on my Etsy. Or, hit me up on Patreon for as little as $1 a month.

Thanks as always to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.

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wumingfoundation · 6 years

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On #QAnon: The full text of our Buzzfeed Interview

Ryan Broderick of Buzzfeed just published an article on this #QAnon conspiracy bullshit titled It's Looking Extremely Likely That QAnon Is A Leftist Prank On Trump Supporters. The piece features quotes from an interview we gave via email. Here’s the full email exchange.

Can you tell me a bit about when and how your book Q was written?

We started writing Q in the last months of 1995, when we were part of the Luther Blissett Project, a network of activists, artists and cultural agitators who all shared the name «Luther Blissett». Luther Blissett was and still is a British public figure, a former footballer, a philanthropist. The LBP spread many mythical tales about why we chose to borrow his name, but the truth is that nobody knows.

Initially, Blissett the footballer was bemused, but then he decided to play along with us and even publicly endorsed the project. Last year, during an interview on the Italian TV, he stated that having his name adopted for the LBP was «a honour». The purpose of signing all our statements, political actions and works of art with the same moniker was to build the reputation of one open character, a sort of collective "bandit", like Ned Ludd, or Captain Swing. It was live action role playing. The LBP was huge: hundreds of people in Italy alone, dozens more in other countries. In the UK, one of the theorists and propagandists of the LBP was the novelist Stewart Home.

The LBP lasted from 1994 to 1999. The best English-language account of those five years is in Marco Deseriis' book Improper Names: Collective Pseudonyms from the Luddites to Anonymous. One of our main activities consisted of playing extremely elaborate pranks on the mainstream media. Some of them were big stunts which made us quite famous in Italy. The most complex one was played by dozens of people in the backwoods around Viterbo, a town near Rome. It lasted a year, involving Satanism, black masses, Christian anti-satanist vigilantes and so on. It was all made up: there were neither Satanists nor vigilantes, only fake pictures, strategically spread rumours and crazy communiqués, but the local and national media bought everything with no fact-checking at all, politicians jumped on the bandwagon of mass paranoia, we even managed to get footage of a (rather clumsy) satanic ritual broadcast in the national TV news, then we claimed responsibility for the whole thing and produced a huge mass of evidence. The Luther Blissett Project was also responsible for a huge grassroots counter-inquiry on cases of false child abuse allegations. We deconstructed the paedophilia scare that swiped Europe in the second half of the 1990s, and wrote a book about it. A magistrate whom we targeted in the book filed a lawsuit, as a consequence the book was impounded and disappeared from bookshops, but not from the web.

This is the context in which we wrote Q. We finished it in June 1998. It came out in March 1999 and was our final contribution to the LBP.

I've been reading up about it, and it's largely believed that it's underneath the book's narrative it works as handbook for European leftists? Is that a fair assessment? I've read that many believe the book's plot is an allegory for 70s and 80s European activists?

Although it keeps triggering many possible allegorical interpretations, we meant it as a disguised, oblique autobiography of the LBP. We often described it as Blissett's «playbook», an «operations manual» for cultural disruption.

The four authors I'm speaking to now are Roberto Bui, Giovanni Cattabriga, Federico Guglielmi and Luca Di Meo correct? The four authors of Q?

You are speaking with three of the four authors of Q, and you're speaking with a band of writers called Wu Ming, which means «Anonymous» in Chinese. In December 1999 the Luther Blissett Project committed a symbolic suicide - we called it The Seppuku - and in January 2000 we launched another project, the Wu Ming Foundation, centred around our writing and our blog, Giap. The WMF is now an even bigger network than the LBP was, and includes many collectives, projects and laboratories. Luca aka Wu Ming 3 is not a member of the band anymore, although he still collaborates with us on specific side projects. Each member of the band has a nom de plume composed of the band's name and a numeral, following the alphabetical order of our surnames, thus you're speaking to Roberto Bui aka Wu Ming 1, Giovanni Cattabriga aka Wu Ming 2 and Federico Guglielmi aka Wu Ming 4.

Can you tell me a bit about your background before the Luther Blissett project?

Before the LBP we were part of a national scene that was – and still is – called simply «il movimento», a galaxy of occupied social centres, squats, independent radio stations, small record labels, alternative bookshops, student collectives, radical trade unions, etc. In the Italian radical tradition, at least after the Sixties, there was never any clearcut separation between the counterculture and more political milieux. Most of us came from left-wing family backgrounds, had roots in the working class. Punk rock opened our minds during our teenage years, then in the late 1980s and early 1990s Cyberpunk opened them even more, and inspired new practices.

When did you start noticing similarities between Q and QAnon? I know you've tweeted a bit about this, but I'd love to get as many details as I can. I feel like the details around QAnon are so sketchy that it's important to lock in as much as I can here.

We read a lot about the US alt-right, books such as Elizabeth Sandifer's Neoreaction a Basilisk or Angela Nagle's – flawed but still useful – Kill All Normies, and yet we didn't see the QAnon thing coming. We didn't know it was growing on 4chan and some specific subReddits. About six weeks ago, on June 12th, our old pal Florian Cramer – a fellow veteran of the LBP who now teaches at the Willem de Kooning Academy in Rotterdam – sent us a short email. Here's the text:

«It seems as if somebody took Luther Blissett's playbook and turned it into an Alt-Right conspiracy lore. Maybe Wu Ming should write a new article: "How Luther Blissett brought down Roseanne Barr"!»,

After those sentences there was a link to a piece by Justin Caffier on Vice. We read it, and briefly commented on Twitter, then in the following weeks more and more people got in touch with us, many of them Europeans living in the US. They all wanted to draw our attention on the QAnon phenomenon. To anyone who had read our novel, the similarities were obvious, to the extent that all these people were puzzled seeing that no US pundit or scholar was citing the book.

Have there been key moments for you that made you feel like QAnon is an homage to Q? What has lined up the best?

Coincidences are hard to ignore: dispatches signed Q allegedly coming from some dark meanders of top state power, exactly like in our book. This Q is frequently described as a Blissett-like collective character, «an entity of about ten people that have high security clearance», and at the same time – like we did for the LBP – weird "origin myths" are put into circulation, like the one about John Kennedy Jr. faking his own death in 1999 – the year Q was first published, by the way! – and becoming Q. QAnon's psy-op reminds very much of our old «playbook», and the metaconspiracy seems to draw from the LBP's set of references, as it involves the Church, satanic rituals, paedophilia...

We can't say for sure that it's an homage, but one thing is almost certain: our book has something to do with it. It may have started as some sort of, er, "fan fiction" inspired by our novel, and then quickly became something else.

There will be a lot of skepticism I think that an American political movement like QAnon could have been influenced by an Italian novel, how do you think it may have happened?

It's an Italian novel in the sense that it was originally written in Italian by Italian authors, but in the past (nearly) 20 years it has become a global novel. It was translated into fifteen languages – including Korean, Japanese, Russian, Turkish – and published in about thirty countries. It was successful all across Europe and in the English speaking world with the exception of the US, where it got bad reviews, sold poorly and circulated almost exclusively in activist circles.

Q was published in Italian a few months before the so-called "Battle of Seattle", and published in several other languages in the 2000-2001 period. It became a sort of night-table book for that generation of activists, the one that would be savagely beaten up by an army of cops during the G8 summit in Genoa, July 2001. In 2008 we wrote a short essay, almost a memoir, on our participation to those struggles and Q's influence in those years, titled Spectres of Müntzer at Sunrise. A copy of Q's Spanish edition even ended up in the hands of subcomandante Marcos. It isn't at all unrealistic to imagine that it may have inspired the people who started QAnon.

Have you seen anything in the QAnon posts that leads you to suspect any activist group in particular is behind it?

No, we haven't.

You think QAnon is a prank? Without some kind of reveal it's obviously hard to see it as that. If you think it was revealed that QAnon was actually some kind of anarchist prank, would it even matter? Would its believers abandon it or would they just see it as a smear campaign?

Let us take for granted, for a while, that QAnon started as a prank in order to trigger right-wing weirdos and have a laugh at them. There's no doubt it has long become something very different. At a certain level it still sounds like a prank, but who's pulling it on whom? Was the QAnon narrative hijacked and reappropriated by right-wing "counter-pranksters"? Counter-pranksters who operated with the usual alt-right "post-ironic" cynicism, and made the narrative more and more absurd in order to astonish media pundits while spreading reactionary content in a captivating way?

Again: are the original pranksters still involved? Is there some detectable conflict of narratives within the QAnon universe? Why are some alt-right types taking the distance from the whole thing and showing contempt for what they describe as «a larp for boomers»?

A larp it is, for sure. To be more precise, it's a fascist Alternate Reality Game. Plausibly the most active players – ie the main influencers – don't believe in all the conspiracies and metaconspiracies, but many people are so gullible that they'll gulp down any piece of crap – or lump of menstrual blood, for that matter. Moreover, there's danger of gun violence related to the larp, the precedent of Pizzagate is eloquent enough. What if QAnon inspires a wave of hate crimes?

Therefore, to us the important question is: triggering nazis like that, what is it good for? That camp is divided between those who would believe anything and those who would be "ironic" on anything and exploit anything in order to advance their reactionary, racist agenda. Can you really troll or ridicule people like those?

It's hard to foresee what would happen if QAnon were exposed as an anarchist/leftist prank on the right. If its perpetrators claimed responsibility for it and showed some evidence (for example, unmistakeable references to our book and the LBP), would the explanation itself become yet another part of the narrative, or would it generate a new narrative encompassing and defusing the previous one? In plain words: which narrative would prevail? «QAnon sucking anything into its vortex» or «Luther Blissett's ultimate prank»?

In any case, we'd never have started anything like that ourselves. Way too dangerous.

#QAnon #Luther Blissett #Q #novel #Wu Ming

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nerdy-nonbinary · 6 years

Text

Reunion Ch. 2: The Evening Prior

Mako arrived at the party much earlier than she had planned. Sure, she’d wanted to get there early to help set up and bring all the food. But then she thought the train’s might run late, and the weather had said there was a chance for rain, and she knew she would have to walk slow with all the food she was carrying. So she decided to leave a bit earlier just in case.

Now she was standing outside their grand apartment over an hour before she was supposed to be there. She considered texting Masami and asking her, but she decided it would be easier if she waited outside, in case Masami and Suehiro were busy with something. She found a bus stop nearby and, arms loaded with goodies, sat down to pass the time.

Mako had known Masami and Suehiro would be moving before she sent out the email, but she still didn’t believe it was true. But now that she was attending what was essentially their going away party, she was hit with the full weight of what it meant. Since middle school, Masami had been her closest friend. Even in their childhood, cut off from resources and outside support, they had had each other. And now, that was going to disappear. Sure, the two of them had found support groups as they were older, made themselves a community outside of their small, splintered friend circle. But nothing would replace that genuine connection they’d had, two young trans girls with no direction, no idea who they were, who had nothing but each other. It still hadn’t really sunk in yet.

She stared into the distance, the setting sun glowing just below the cloudline. The life she lived had always been uncertain. Transitioning, even at a relatively young age, had been terrifying. Even after nearly five years on hormones, she still got nervous glances in public, and she’d had slurs hurled at her more times than than she could bear to remember. She still had a small amount of money saved specifically for repairs to graffitti and attacks at the bakery. She hadn’t needed to use it yet, but she felt safer knowing she’d be able to fix whatever damage people like that could bring and keep on doing what she loves.

But now was no time to worry. This was meant to be a joyous occasion. Shamefully, Mako hadn’t talked to anyone besides Nitori, so she really was excited to see how everyone was doing. Even Chiba, whose relationship with all of them had been strained at the best of times. She needed to head back to help set up. If Nitori was going to leave, why was she sitting around and fretting, rather than enjoying what time they had left?

Mako hopped up and sprinted back to Nitori’s house.

“Ms. Sasa, where do you go when school is done?”

Kanako turned to face Rina, her last straggler before she shut down her classroom for the day. She bent down to the girl’s level. “Well, where do you think I go?”

The girl put a serious look on her face as she thought, before replying “I don’t know. Maybe you have a bed in the school?”

Kanako couldn’t help but laugh. “No, Rina, Ms. Sasa doesn’t live in school. Usually, I go home and make myself dinner, and then get ready for tomorrow’s activity. But tonight, I’m actually doing something special.”

The girl bounced on the balls of her feet, impatient at her teacher’s vague answer. “What? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to see some friends that I haven’t seen in a long time.”

“How long?”

“Well, let’s see. How old are you, Rina?”

She stuck out one hand, her chubby thumb tucked in. “Four!”

“Wow!” She feigned surprise, and Rina let out a little giggle. “You’re so old! But the last time I saw my friends was so long ago, you weren’t even born yet!”

“What! Ms. Sasa, you gotta be like a million years old!”

Kanako pouted at the comment. “Hey, I’m not that old! Maybe just a thousand years old.”

Her ears caught the sound of heels on linoleum, and she stood up to see a disheveled businesswoman sprint into the doorway, holding the frame as she caught her breath. “Ms. Sasa, thank you so much,” She said, panting. “My meeting was late and my phone died, and-”

“Mrs. Okano, it’s no problem. Just doing my job.” She bent back down to Rina. “Bye, Rina! See you next week!”

The girl looked over her shoulder as she left, her mom’s hand holding hers. “Bye Ms. Sasa! Have fun with your friends!” Her voice drifted down the hallway, and soon the classroom was silent.

It was odd. Until then, recounting her plans to a toddler, the weight of the night hadn’t truly hit her. Now it collapsed upon her shoulders, weights dragging her deep into the earth. Most of her students weren’t even alive the last time she saw them. Sure, there was social media. She’d been a little startled when Ariga had come out immediately after graduation. It made sense, looking back, but she hadn’t been as vocal about it as Nitori had. Takatsuki identified as x-gender now, but there was a period from after graduation until just over a year ago where she’d heard nothing from them. Then they’d popped back up on social media, with a guy’s haircut and FtX on every bio page. They were a student teacher now, working towards a degree, but she couldn’t help but wonder what had made them fall off the map for so many years.

Sarashina was the opposite end of the spectrum, showering in the spotlight (or, as much spotlight as there was) of women’s basketball. The star player, Sarashina was becoming more famous than even some of the male players, despite almost nonexistent media coverage of women’s sports. Of course, there was a little twist.

Sarashina wasn’t a girl.

They’d come out as genderfluid about three years ago, a post on every piece of social media they had. A quick selfie with that signature smile of his, with the caption “btw I’m genderfluid. he/she/they.” Not even an explanation. Kanako knew enough to find accurate sites and definitions, but others would be lost. It seemed hasty and poorly planned, from her point of view.

But maybe that’s what Sarashina had been going for. Spontaneity, confusion, casual mention of their identity. That was the Chi-chan way.

Then, of course, there was Chiba. Chiba, who had been a part of their friend group all the way back in fifth grade. Chiba, who always had had a crush on Nitori, even in denial of her gender. Chiba, who became… Kanako hated to say it, but it was the truth: Chiba became an asshole.

Kanako hadn’t seen her much since high school, and Chiba wasn’t one for social media. After the text she’d sent her, she was willing to her the benefit of the doubt, but Kanako was still wary. Out of the whole group, she’d definitely been the most transphobic (excluding Shirai, who had only been a part of the group by being glued to Sarashina’s shoulder at all times). Everything she had said to Takatsuki, denying their identity when they thought they were a guy. Even Nitori, the object of her constant affections, was a target, as she was almost painfully straight, and wanted her to hold on her male identity, even when dressing her up in skirts and blouses. Sure, Kanako had been airheaded as a kid, and none of them knew much about any of this at the time, but even she could tell something had been up.

Still, Nitori was inviting her, and that had to count for something. Who knows? She may have changed, and Kanako was willing to give her a chance.

But past all the memories and afterthought, a childish sense of glee bloomed in her chest. Everyone, together again, a way they hadn’t been since the end of middle school. It was thrilling, in an odd way. A private high school reunion, without the distant acquaintances to weave through and drunk dancing. Well, drunk strangers dancing, anyway.

Kanako finished tidying up the classroom, and silently skipped her way out the door. She couldn’t wait to see her friends again.

Saori was a bad person.

This wasn’t some huge revelation, any action or scenario that triggered the thought. Hell, she was sitting in the middle of a café, typing away at an essay when she realized it.

Saori was a bad person.

It was ironic, really, considering her area of study. How could she be a therapist if she couldn’t even help herself? But the position suited her. She’d always dealt with her problems by focusing on something else, some new project or plan separate from her mind. Writing a play, dressing up friends, going to church. Now she was going to do it for a living.

Saori was a bad person.

“Ok.”

The room went silent, eye contact unbroken between the pair before she pulled her eyes away, staring at the floor. Dr. Yamada continued. “Ok. You’re a bad person. What are you going to do about it?”

“Huh?”

Dr. Yamada sighed, shifting her notebook in her lap. “Do you want to be a person?”

Saori paused. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Ok. So let’s work on changing that.”

“But it’s not that simp-“

“It’s not. I know. But saying you’re a bad person doesn’t make you any less of one. It just makes you self aware. Nothing is going to change unless you put in a little effort.”

Saori let the clock echo through the silent room for the rest of the session. Her weekly therapy appointments often left her emotionally drained, but she’d asked to have a lighter session this week, as she was meeting old friends afterwards.

So much that did.

But it got her thinking. Why did she think she was a bad person?

Well, for one thing, she was attending a party hosted by a girl she bullied mercilessly for years under the guise of love. How many times had she given Nitori clothes to match her true self, only to deny her identity in the same breath? As Sasa had bluntly put it the last they had seen each other, her “distinctly oppressive heterosexuality” had not only blinded her from truly seeing Nitori for who she was, but also irreparably hurt their relationship. She still couldn’t believe she’d been invited, though the email had gone out months ago.

For another thing, she’d narrowly avoided again seeing someone who she had truly, deeply injured, even more than Nitori. She recalled the sigh of relief she’d breathed when Takatsuki had reluctantly declined the evite, and she still felt that stab of guilt. For all that she was right in saying Takatsuki wasn’t really a boy, she had actively dissuaded them from presenting the way they wanted to at the time, and she’s couldn’t help but wonder if their declining mental health during the last years of high school had been partly her fault, for denying their identity.

As she exited the office building, she questioned her decision to attend the party for the millionth time. None of them had genuinely enjoyed her presence by the end of school, really. Did she have any good reason to go, besides bringing up bad memories?

But Dr. Yamada said it took work to fix oneself. Maybe she needed to go. Maybe she needed to bring up the past in order to make herself a better future.

Saori was a bad person.

But tonight, she will take the first step to become a better one.

#hourou musuko #Wandering Son #ariga makoto #sasa kanako #Chiba Saori #transgender #lgbt #trans character #trans female character #reunion #my own post

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